


The Greatest Journey

by jackabelle73



Category: Glee
Genre: Daddies!Klaine, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:38:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4428695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackabelle73/pseuds/jackabelle73
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of future!fic drabbles featuring Daddies!Klaine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dirt

**Author's Note:**

> The title of each chapter is the one-word prompt from the Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge from a couple years ago, which was when I started these. Although these aren't in chronological order and don't tell one cohesive story from beginning to end, in my headcanon they're in the same verse as my short fic More Than Enough.

He raced up the stairs rather than wait for the elevator, nearly falling down the steps when he tried to take two at once. Silly Blaine, he knew better. His legs weren’t long enough for that, but he couldn’t help himself. Today was the day. They’d gone through all the paperwork, all the sleepless nights of worry, and this morning the call had come while they were both at work. It had taken Blaine a while to get away, and now he couldn’t wait one moment longer to share this excitement with his husband. He fumbled with his key and finally succeeded in opening the door, calling out.  
  
“Kurt? I’m here, sorry! Took them a while to find someone to cover for me, and then there was a delay on the subway. Did you book our flight?” No answer. “Kurt?”

He hung up his coat and scarf, leaning over the luggage stacked by the door to reach the hooks. The suitcases had been packed for a month.

He stepped around them to cross the living room and check their bedroom, but it was empty. The bathroom door was open and he could see it was Kurt-less as well, though the scent of lemon and pine was further evidence that he’d been in here. Kurt liked to clean the apartment before they left for a trip, so they could come back to a clean apartment. Blaine opened the door to the nursery next, expecting to find his husband obsessing over the placement of the stuffed animals on the dresser. The dresser, not in the crib. The night that they’d laid in bed, reading about SIDS risk factors, Kurt had gotten up immediately to move the stuffed animals out of the crib where they’d looked so cute. Blaine’s protests that their baby wasn’t due for two more months, and surely they could wait to move the menacing teddy bears, were in vain.

And now he stood in the middle of their immaculately decorated and absolutely safe nursery, wondering where his husband could be. He pulled out his phone and dialed. A moment later Kurt’s phone rang from the kitchen. Phone still to his ear, Blaine walked over to the phone vibrating on the counter, in danger of shaking itself off the edge. He shut off both phones and in the following quiet heard a rhythmic sh-sh-sh-sh and sniffling.

Walking around the counter, he found Kurt on his hands and knees, where he couldn’t be seen from the living room. He had an old toothbrush in one hand and was scrubbing desperately at the space between the hexagon floor tiles, a small bucket of sudsy water next to him. He sniffled again and Blaine saw a tear fall on the floor, immediately swept up in the back-and-forth of the toothbrush and becoming part of the suds.

“Kurt?” Blaine spoke softly, kneeling beside him. “Kurt, I’m right here. Do you think you can stop for a minute and talk to me?” Moving slowly, he placed a hand on his back, rubbing between his shoulder blades.  
  
“No, not yet.” Kurt didn’t lift his eyes from the floor. His voice was thick, like the sound was stuck in his throat and not all of it could get out. “I have to get this floor clean, I didn’t see how dirty it was till now.” Another teardrop.

“Baby, I really think the floor is clean enough,” Blaine tried to reason.  
  
“No, it’s not!” The toothbrush clattered across the floor as Kurt gestured wildly and lost his grip on it, finally looking up at him. The fear on his face wrenched at Blaine. “This entire apartment has to be clean! All of it, every inch! We’re bringing a baby in here, we can’t raise a baby in a dirty apartment! We have to--”

Blaine cut off his tirade by pulling Kurt close to him, holding tight, relieved when he clung back just as fiercely. His face dropped to Blaine’s shoulder and his body shuddered once, then he began to calm, his breaths becoming more even and easing his claw-like grip. They stayed like that for a few minutes before Blaine spoke.

“Can I tell you something?” He felt the nod against the side of his neck. “I’m scared too.” Kurt leaned back to look at him in disbelief, still holding on to him.

“Well, that’s less than helpful, Blaine!” And he only just stopped himself from laughing, because if Kurt could make a snarky comment then the emotional danger was past. “Don’t you think you could be the strong one for a moment, instead of telling me how scared you are?”

“Hey, I’m not the one having a breakdown over a millimeter of imaginary dirt!” he threw back. “Seems to me I am being the strong one at the moment.”

Kurt looked down at the bucket by his knee, the soapy water still popping bubbles on the tile.

“Oh my God…..” He released his grip on Blaine and sat back. “I’m being really silly, aren’t I?” He almost smiled but couldn’t quite manage it yet.

“Not silly,” Blaine answered, voice soft with relating. “Just scared. And that’s okay. I told you, I’m scared too. Honestly, I think we’re supposed to be.”

“Really?”

“Well yeah, it’s a big step. Life-changing.”  
  
“You’re not helping me feel any less scared right now, Blaine.”  
  
He laughed. “It’ll be okay, you know that, right?” He reached down for Kurt’s hands that he’d clenched in his lap. “We’re going to be awesome parents.” He gave his hands a little shake. “We’re gonna love this kid more than any kid’s ever been loved in the history of kids. And that’s the biggest, most important job that parents have. Right?”

“Yeah.” The word was barely audible, but he finally seemed convinced. “Love our kid—I think we can handle that part.”  
  
“And we’ll just have to take turns with the emotional breakdowns.”  
  
Kurt did manage a smile this time. “Deal. It’s your turn next.”

“So we’re good then,” Blaine said with finality, kissing him and pulling him into another hug. “We’re all set to be parents.”

“Uh, Blaine?” Kurt’s voice came muffled from his shoulder. “We are missing one thing.”  
  
“Hmmm?”  
  
“We have to go get the kid. Our plane leaves JFK in two hours.”


	2. Jigsaw

The door swung closed behind the physician’s assistant, and Blaine stared dumbly down at the brochures in his hands. “Signs to Watch For,” says one in a weirdly cheerful font. Another has a mother and father cradling their boy between them. “Support Services” is the title on that one. Each pamphlet has a single jigsaw puzzle piece in the upper right corner. He didn’t know why the jigsaw piece was there, but it seemed oddly fitting to his mood just now, because he definitely felt like the pieces were not fitting together. 

“Do you think he really could…..” he asked, looking up at Kurt who sat on the paper covered exam table with Gil cradled against his chest.

“We don’t know anything yet, Blaine. Let’s try not to panic.” But he looked down at their son as he said it, held him just a little closer, and Blaine knew he was barely holding together himself. 

He moved over to them, laying a hand gently on their toddler’s hair and stroking. He leaned over to see his face, terrified now of getting nothing but a blank stare back, vacant and unresponsive. Instead he observed Gil’s eyelashes against his chubby cheeks as their child slept in apparent unconcern to his dads’ turmoil. 

“He fell asleep almost as soon as the PA handed him back to me,” Kurt said softly. 

“Well, we did have a busy morning, didn’t we?” Blaine smiled. “The grocery store, and the park, and feeding the ducks at the pond. That’s a busy morning for an eighteen month old.” His chest tightened at the thought that normal mornings like that could be taken away, could be crushed to tiny pieces under the weight of a single diagnosis. 

How did families cope with this sort of thing? No one planned to have a special needs child. Everyone dreamed of their child being their shining star, their perfect angel who would be the best of both its parents, with a little something extra of its own. How did parents pick up the pieces of their shattered illusions and find their equilibrium again? 

The door opened and their regular pediatrician came in. Dr. Richards had graying hair pulled back in a loose bun and a calming manner that had drawn Blaine and Kurt to her from the start. As nervous first-time parents, they needed someone like her looking after Gil’s health. 

“Blaine,” she shook hands with him. “Kurt.” She nodded to him as his hands were occupied. “It’s good to see you again. My PA told me he noticed something odd during Gilbert’s examination?” 

“Yes,” Blaine blurted out. “Gil wasn’t making eye contact with him, he was just kind of staring at nothing over his shoulder, and the PA got a weird look, then handed me these brochures,” he waved them in the air, only just now realizing he was still holding them, “and then said he’d get you.” 

Dr. Richards smiled from her seat on the wheeled stool. “Blaine, I want you to do a couple things for me.” 

He nodded and awaited further instruction. The doctor was here now, the doctor knew what to do. 

“First, hand me those brochures.” She took them and very deliberately turned and dropped them in the trash, then spun back to face their surprised faces. “Second, breathe. Just take a moment for a few deep breaths. You too, Kurt.” 

Okay, breathe. He could handle breathing, as long as the doctor was here to handle the big issues. 

“Now, sit down on the table next to Kurt and listen to me.” She still spoke quietly, but with authority. He obeyed without question, reaching out to wrap Gil’s jean-clad calf in one hand just to feel connected to him. 

“Now that we’re all calm, I’ll tell you a secret. Paul is a very capable assistant, but still relatively young and inexperienced. He also just came back from a seminar on recognizing the early warning signs of autism, so he may be a bit overzealous on that topic at the moment.” 

Blaine glanced at Kurt, and could almost feel from his seat next to him the way that his posture relaxed, just a little. “I also want you to remember that you are Gil’s parents, and therefore, you are the two people on this planet who know him best. Trust in that, okay?”

“Yeah,” Kurt answered softly, his fingers still stroking the small back. Still trying to focus on breathing, Blaine only nodded in acknowledgement. 

“Now, I’m going to go through a short list of simple questions, and I want you both to answer as honestly as you can.” She started and they answered together, or took turns, through the twenty or so questions. Yes, Gil usually made eye contact. He played with toys appropriately and engaged in pretend play. He liked them to play with him and seemed interested in other children. He smiled and laughed often. Yes, he definitely recognized his name. 

At the end of her list Dr. Richards closed her folder and smiled. “Take your baby home and enjoy being parents. I don’t see anything in your answers today, or in past checkups, to suggest an autism diagnosis.” 

At her words, Blaine felt his jumbled world settle back into place again, all the puzzle pieces connecting to give him a picture he knew and understood. He released his light hold on Gil’s leg, finally, and instead looped his hand around Kurt’s waist, leaning over to kiss their son’s blond head. 

“May I?” he asked, holding his hands out. Kurt nodded in understanding and handed their baby over, their armful of sleeping child who whined softly at having his sleep disturbed but didn’t open his eyes. Blaine was vaguely aware of his husband and the doctor talking about something, but didn’t even try to pay attention. He only gathered Gil closer to his chest and patted his diapered bottom.


	3. Echo

“Blaine!” Kurt called from the living room.

“Bwaine!” A voice piped from by his knee.  
  
“I need your help with something.”

“Need help sump'in!”  
  
“Blaine, today please!”  
  
“Bwaine! Day pweese!”  
  
He looked down at the boy whose hand he held, at the paint on his Baby Gap sweater and in his blonde hair, at the overjoyed grin that made it impossible to be truly angry about the mess.

“Sweetie, you don’t call him Blaine. Daddy calls him Blaine, you call him Papa.”

The grin dimmed a little. “But I wike saying Bwaine. Bwaine!” he called again, as Kurt fought not to roll his eyes. He was trying to break the habit, as he was sure their son would throw the gesture back at him soon enough without his Daddy giving him something to mimic.

“He’s an independent thinker, that one.” The subject of their conversation finally made an appearance. “Just like his Daddy.”

“I’m not the sole cause of his contrariness, Blaine,” Kurt retorted.

“Yeah, Bwaine!” And this time Kurt lost the eye-rolling battle.

“Apparently I have an echo.”  
  
Blaine smothered a laugh behind his hand. “Your child,” he said pointedly to Kurt as he walked over, taking in the scene. Finger paints spilled over the cloth covered table and onto the tarp that had been spread out beneath it. He bent down to toddler level. “What have we here?”

“He decided to decorate his clothes, instead of just the paper,” Kurt informed him.

“Want make wothes pretty wike Daddy do,” was the explanation.  
  
Blaine looked up at Kurt. “Your child,” he repeated. “So what do you need me to do?”

“Help me get his clothes off, I was afraid to try it on my own because if he got away he’d spread paint over everything. Then you can dunk him in the bathtub while I try to get the paint out of the sweater.”

“Okay, Sport, arms up.”

Together they managed to get his clothes off without getting more paint on anything that didn’t already have it. Once their little boy was stripped, the damage to him wasn’t that bad. His hands got the worst of it, since he'd used them in lieu of brushes. Other than that, it was just a few smears on his face and in his hair.

“Now, straight to the bathtub with you,” Kurt ordered, turning to gather up the clothes.

“You know, you should be flattered that he’s imitating you,” Blaine said over his shoulder.  
  
“I’ll be flattered when it doesn’t make such a mess,” he answered, accessing the damage to the red sweater. These paints were supposed to be washable, so they’d find out today.

“Wook at me!”

He looked up, suddenly realizing that Blaine was still beside him and their son was……across the room on the couch. Jumping on the couch, which now had little handprints to show where he’d held on to pull himself up. He closed his eyes and reminded himself that it was just a couch, they could clean it, just like they could clean the clothes, and the carpet, and—-

“Daddy B, Daddy K, wook at me!”

He opened his eyes again, to the sight of their little boy jumping as high as he could, making bunny hops from one end of the couch to the other, then standing on the arm to jump back down to the cushion. He turned to his husband, who wasn’t even trying not to grin this time.  
  
“Your child, Blaine.”


	4. Stitch

Kurt approached the check-in desk, where the nurse merely raised her eyebrows as she listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone. He signed Gil’s name, his own and Blaine’s on the sign-in sheet, then waited.

“Kurt,” the nurse greeted after hanging up. “Is Gil here to punch another hole on his frequent visitor card?” She smiled as she tapped away at her keyboard.

“Afraid so. Blaine’s bringing him in now. Tell me, Kathy--does he get an extra hole punch for a head injury?”

At that, Kathy looked up from her computer, all light-hearted banter forgotten. “Head injury? What happened?” She rose from her desk and came around it just as Blaine came through the swinging door pushing Gil in front of him, holding the boy’s hand in one of his own and with the other hand, pressing a handkerchief to the back of Gil’s head.

“Hi, Miss Kathy!” Gil waved, obviously not in distress, and Kurt could see her relax. He knew Gil’s injury wasn’t an emergency. He’d hardly have walked in so calmly and waited his turn if his son’s need had been urgent.  
  
“Hi yourself, Mr. Gilbert.” She knelt down to his level. “What have you done to your head?”

“I gots a big cut on it!” he exclaimed proudly.

“He crawled under our raised storage shed, which has aluminum siding. Some of the bottom edges are jagged, and he caught himself on one as he was crawling back out,” Blaine explained, still holding that white square to the boy’s head.

“Hmmm. Sounds like the sort of thing that five year old boys do.” She pulled a pair of surgical gloves from her pocket, putting them on.

“Nuh-uh! I’m six now!” He pulled his hand from Blaine’s, as he needed both hands to hold up the correct number of fingers.

“Oh really? So now we know that six year old boys like to crawl under buildings too. Can I see your big cut?”

Blaine lifted his hand so she could get a look. She parted Gil’s hair carefully, inspecting the cut which only slightly oozed blood.

“I think you’ll live,” she pronounced. “But it probably will need stitches, so sit down and we’ll get you patched up soon.”  
  
“Can I get a red lollipop this time?” Gil asked as she walked back to her desk.

“I swear, Gilbert Brian, sometimes I think the only reason you’re so accident prone is to get the lollipops.”

“What’s wrong with that?” he asked innocently as he went to play with the Legos.

They watched him for a moment before Blaine asked, “Think he’ll read a book while they stitch him this time?”

“He read a book last time,” Kurt replied, watching their son make a tower of blue. “This time he might actually take a nap.”  



	5. Message

He loved his city. Loved, loved, loved it. But at the moment, he needed his noisy hectic city with its trillion inhabitants — at least a million of whom were between him and his destination — to give him a break already. Stepping aside to let a mother with a toddler on her hip go up the stairs before him, because even a near panic attack was no excuse to be rude, he pulled out his phone and dared fate by texting as he walked up the subway stairs. He hit send as he hurried up Broadway toward 43rd Street.

Blaine to Kurt: _What are you doing?_

The answer came almost immediately.

Kurt to Blaine: _Stuck in mtng w/ morons._

He stopped in front of the Conde Nast building, fighting his urge to barge in.

Blaine to Kurt: _Chk your msgs & call me. Important._

He waited by the door as people revolved in and out, rushing in with briefcases to attend their important meetings, rushing out to the curb to wave down a taxi. A group of schoolchildren passed in a blur of red shirts and high-pitched snatches of conversation which were swallowed by the city before he could hear anything they said.

When his cell rang, he barely allowed Kurt’s picture to flash on the screen before he had the phone to his ear.

“Did you–” he asked, breathless, as Kurt spoke at the same time.

“Yeah. What do you think–”

“I don’t know. She can’t take him away, right? It’s been too long.” Blaine had to swallow down a whimper at the very thought.

“No, no way. She can’t take him. It was finalized months ago, she had the chance to change her mind. She _can’t_ take him,” Kurt repeated.

“Right. Yeah, I know that.” He felt slightly calmer just having Kurt to share the news with, but there was still an impending panic attack building up in his throat. He knew the law was on their side, but logic meant little against his fear. “Then why did the lawyer say she wants to talk to us?”

There was a long pause.  
  
“We did say we were willing to stay in contact,” Kurt reminded him.

“Well, why’d we do a stupid thing like that?” At this exact moment, sweaty palms slipping on his phone and needing a building to hold him up as his legs threatened collapse, Blaine couldn’t imagine what their rationale had been.

“As I recall, _someone_ thought it would be best for Gil.” There was an edge to Kurt’s voice now.

Right. Kurt had been in favor of severing all contact.  
  
“Well, someone didn’t know that it was possible to have a heart attack from a simple phone message!” Blaine defended, drawing a glance from a young woman taking her cigarette break on the far side of the door. He tried to lower his voice. “I was braced for this the first few months, but why now? Why hit us broadside with no warning?”

Another pause before Kurt answered with a calm that Blaine knew was forced.  
  
“I think we need to take a breath, call the lawyer back, and ask her if she knows anything else. It’s probably nothing. We’ve been sending pictures and videos for fifteen months, we knew the birth mom could ask for them at any time.”

“Right.” Breathe in. “Okay,” as he exhaled. Breathe in again. “Can you come down so we can call together?”

“Come down? Blaine, where are you?”

“Umm….right outside your building?” He pictured the patented Kurt Hummel eye roll. “I was too upset to stay at work, so I took an early lunch and headed your way. I was going to barge into your office and tell you in person if you didn’t answer the text.”

Kurt sighed. “Give me a moment to tell my boss.”

When Kurt stepped out barely five minutes later, Blaine met him at the door, a bundle of high-strung nerves in need of a hug.

“I feel like I need to go pick up Gil from daycare right now, and hold him the rest of the day just to make sure he’s safe,” Blaine murmured to Kurt’s shoulder. He felt himself moving backward and realized Kurt was easing them away from the door. New York City rushed by them, oblivious to his turmoil.

“Honey, I need you to calm down,” Kurt said softly to his ear. “The adoption is final, it’s legally binding. No one can take Gil away from us. And that’s what you’re scared of, right?”

“I can’t bear the thought of losing him. Any more than I can bear the thought of losing you.” Blaine lifted his head from the sanctuary of Kurt’s neck to look at him, knowing he had tears in his eyes and not caring who saw it. He’d lost Kurt before, he knew that pain well and wasn’t sure he could bear that — or an equally devastating loss — ever again.

“You’re not going to lose either one of us.” Kurt’s thumbs wiped under his eyes. “So just relax, and let’s both go back to work, and we’ll call the lawyer when we get home.”

“The law office will be closed by then, you know that.” The physical contact was helping to ground him. Blaine was finally breathing easier but still felt like he’d been punched.

“You want to call now?” Kurt waited for Blaine’s shaky nod. “Come on then, let’s go inside and see if there’s a space we can use.”

Five minutes later they stood huddled over Blaine’s phone in the recently vacated conference room, the smell of coffee and pastries still prominent enough to make his stomach roll.

“Weston, Blake, and Associates, how may I help you?” the receptionist’s chipper voice answered.

“Hi, it’s Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel,” he answered quickly. “We got a call from Ms. Blake about our adoption paperwork, we were really hoping she was available to elaborate?”

“Just a moment,” still in that annoyingly optimistic and professional voice. A click and then silence. They looked at each other, Kurt still holding the phone up as they waited, Blaine wiping his hands on his pants.  
  
“Don’t do that, honey, you’ll stain the fabric.”

“Right now I really don’t give a rat’s ass–”

“Hey Kurt, Blaine, you both there?” Their lawyer’s voice crackled from the phone and Kurt fumbled, nearly dropping it.

“Yes, yes, both here,” Kurt said as he brought the phone back up again.

“My assistant said you sounded worried. Hope I didn’t frighten you with that message. I did say it was nothing bad, right?”

“Yeah, you did, but I got worried anyway,” Blaine confessed, voice tight. Kurt’s arm came around his shoulders, pulling him in close.

“No reason to stress,” she said with the ease of someone not facing total upheaval in their life. “Your son’s birth mom came in to my office and asked for the pictures and videos you’d been sending me all this time. That was three days ago. Today, she called and asked if the two of you would be willing to talk to her on the phone.”

“That’s it?” Kurt asked. “Just a phone call?”

“Well…” she hedged, and Blaine’s heart clenched again. “It’s my experience that once a birth mom gets that far, she usually wants to meet in person at some point. But I don’t want you to worry about that right now, okay? All she’s asking for now is a phone call.”

“Okay, maybe we can handle that,” Kurt answered for them, rubbing at Blaine’s upper arm. “It’s just a phone call.”

“Look, if you guys are nervous about this, I want you to remember that the only contact you’re contractually obligated to maintain are the same letters, pictures, and videos you’ve been sending me all along. Talking to...” They heard the clicking of a keyboard. “Brianna. Talking to Brianna on the phone is totally optional. If you’re willing to talk to her on the phone but not willing to meet in person, that is also your choice. You’re the legal parents, you’re in control of how much contact the birth mother gets to have with your son. Understood?”

“So you’re saying the law is definitely on our side?” Blaine asked. “No ifs, ands, buts?”

“Yes. The law is 100% on your side. You are the legal parents of your child. Trust me on that, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Got it.” Blaine swallowed the fear down, turning his face into Kurt’s shoulder for comfort, going limp as the anxiety loosened its hold on him.

“So...that said, just tell me how you plan to proceed,” Ms. Blake asked. “I can facilitate a phone call between the three of you, or call her back and say that you’ve declined to speak with her.”

Blaine looked up at Kurt, questioning.

“Just a second, Ms. Blake.” He put the call on hold. “Your choice, Blaine. You heard her, we’re in control here. If you can’t handle it, we don’t have to talk to Brianna.”

He stood up straight again, pulling his vest down and slipping hands into his pockets as he thought for a second. Panic abating, he tried to think clearly again. What was best for their son?

“We agreed to keep in touch with Gil’s birth mom because we thought it would be best for him, right? We didn’t want him to have questions about where he comes from or feel we were keeping secrets from him.” Kurt nodded. “Even with my meltdown just now–” Blaine shook his head at himself, acknowledging his own crazy. Kurt smirked just a little, rubbing Blaine’s arm to take the malice out of it. “I still think that’s the best choice. For Gil,” Blaine finished.

“Agreed. Is it the best choice for us?” Run of his fingers down to catch Blaine’s hand in his own. “I don’t relish the idea of single fatherhood if you die of a panic-induced heart attack, Blaine.”

Deep breath, turning his hand over to lace their fingers. “I’ll handle it. For Gil.”

“Okay then.” Kurt brought their hands up to kiss the back of Blaine’s before he lifted the phone again, turning the speaker back on. “Ms. Blake? You can give her both our phone numbers and say that we’ll be waiting for her call. After 8:00 pm would be best for the first call, and we can discuss future contact.”

Blaine nudged close again as Kurt finished the call, arms wrapped around him by the time he hung up.

“Think she’ll call tonight?” he murmured into his shoulder.

“I think it’s very likely.” Kurt murmured into his hair. “But no matter what happens, Gil is ours, we’re a family, we’ll handle anything that comes our way. Agreed?”

Family. As long as he had his family, he could face anything. “Agreed.”


	6. Artist

**A/N: This takes place after Blaine graduates and moves to NYC (so the New New York episode), but before Christmas of that year.**

“It’s more fun to be out there doing it,” Kurt commented, watching the skaters at Rockefeller Center. “Even if it did take a week for the bruises on my ass to go away.” He looped his arm through Blaine’s, inching closer as they leaned on the rail about the rink. Close enough to feel the exhale from Blaine as he leaned in, close enough that the white puffs of their breath mingled.

“Hmm….should’ve worn more layers. Ice skating is one time when I might excuse all your multiple layers, they provide padding when you fall.” Blaine reached over to pat Kurt’s hand where it looped around his own forearm, and had his touch lingered on Kurt’s ring finger? He’d seen the way Blaine zeroed in on his engagement ring when Kurt took his glove off to count out change for their coffees. Had he really doubted whether Kurt was still wearing it?

“Look at that couple in the red coats, they’re really good,” Kurt commented after a few more minutes of watching. He gestured with his cup. The pair settled into side by side sit spins, perfectly synchronized.  
  
“Wonder how many bruises they got learning to do that.”

They watched for a few more minutes, till Kurt realized that he couldn’t feel his toes. He’d opted for fashion over insulation in his footwear today, and was starting to regret it.

“I think we should start moving again, before we freeze to this railing,” he announced. “What else did you want to see on our Second Annual Tour of Christmas in New York?”

“The Saks windows!” Blaine’s trademark grin spread across his face. “They’re supposed to have the Abominable Snowman this year!”

“I’m engaged to a child,” Kurt couldn’t help rolling his eyes even as he laughed. “C’mon then, it’s only a block over.”

Arms still linked and holding their coffees close as they pushed through the crowd, they finally broke free of the people standing at least six deep at the rink’s railing. Try as they might, they couldn’t stay connected on the busy sidewalk, too busy with dodging holiday shoppers and bus tour promoters, street food carts and gawking tourists.

Faced with the choice of colliding head-on with a middle-aged couple who were both too busy looking up to notice where they were going, or letting go of Blaine, Kurt released his fiance and stepped around the rubberneckers, never halting his forward motion. He was halfway down the block before he realized that Blaine wasn’t just hidden behind the group of taller people between them. He stopped, looking around.

He’d noticed Blaine being a little standoffish today...by Blaine standards, that is. In the week since Blaine had moved out of the loft, he’d been back a couple times to have dinner with the group or pick up forgotten items. But today was the first time since agreeing to live apart that they’d gone out together, just the two of them on a date, and something about Blaine was off. It was almost like he was afraid to seem too eager, hesitant to stand too close or initiate contact with Kurt unless Kurt reached out first. Of course, standoffish by Blaine’s standards was still positively cuddly by many other’s standards, but...Kurt knew his fiancé. Only fear would make him hesitate even a split second to reach out for Kurt’s hand, to initiate a hug. In spite of their discussions that they were definitely not breaking up, Blaine wasn’t sure about their relationship.

“Kurt! Over here!”

Damn, his fiancé really needed to grow a few inches. Kurt couldn’t see him at all in this crowd, but followed the sound of his voice, finally spotting him at an artist’s sidewalk display.

“Kurt, we should do this!” Blaine waved him over.  
  
He sighed, wondering how hard he should try to talk Blaine out of this. He approached, hearing the artist start her sales pitch. “You like it? You should get one. Only ten dollars!”

“How much for both of us together?” Blaine asked. He waved Kurt over, but did not, he noticed, grab his hand as soon as he stepped within range. So Kurt took it upon himself to lace their fingers together when he reached him. “Look, Kurt. Isn’t her artwork good?”  
  
It was better than the typical artist doing five-minute sketches at a sidewalk stand, Kurt had to admit. The detail in the shading, the realistic expressions on the subjects’ faces. Most were done in simple black pencil, but a few were in color.

“How much for two?” Blaine asked again.

“Two people, twice as much. Twenty dollars,” the woman answered.

“No way, that’s too much,” Kurt objected. “C’mon Blaine, let’s go. You wanted to see the Saks windows.”

“Kurt, I really want a portrait of us together.” He was still holding his hand, and hadn’t taken a step. “Do you realize we haven’t taken any pictures of us together since I moved to New York? I want a portrait that I can put in my room and tell everyone, that’s me and my fiancé.”

“I didn’t realize you wanted pictures of us,” Kurt replied, softer now. “Why didn’t you say so? We can take all the pictures you want.”  
  
“But now that I’ve seen this, I really want a portrait of us.”  
  
Kurt groaned. “It’s such a touristy thing to do,” he complained.

“Exactly! Years from now we’ll look at this and be reminded of when I was still so new to New York that I felt like a tourist, but we’ll be in our own apartment in the Village, married and living in the city where we’re going to spend our lives. Right?”

The overly earnest look in his eyes, the breathless anticipation of his answer, took Kurt back to the staircase at Dalton and Blaine facing him in a yellow suit, asking the most important question of their young lives. Why did he feel like the question he was being asked now was almost as important?

“Of course we are,” he answered, and Blaine finally relaxed. “No more than fifteen though,” Kurt said to the artist. “We can walk down the street and find ten other artists who will do it for that price.”

“Fine, pick your pose.” She waved at a display board with couples shown in various seating arrangements. Blaine walked over at once to look.

Kurt caught the woman’s arm as she turned away. “I’ll pay you the twenty you asked for if you’ll do something for me,” he said, soft so that only she could hear.

Nearly an hour later, they stood up from the folding chairs where they’d sat mostly unmoving while the artist’s hands had been busy on her sketchpad. Kurt’s toes had gone numb again inside his designer boots and for the last ten minutes even Blaine had been grumbling complaints under his breath.  
  
The artist shook her finger at them. “Special request takes longer.”

Blaine paused in stretching his limbs into mobility again. “What special request?”

Kurt was already looking over the woman’s shoulder as she unclipped the drawing from her easel.

“You like?” she asked.

“It’s perfect.”  
“Kurt, what did she mean--” And then Blaine stood beside him, looking at a portrait of the two of them...but not just the two of them. Between them was a small child of indeterminate gender, with wild dark curls and gray-blue eyes. Blaine’s breath caught. “Kurt, that’s...it looks like our kid, like if we really could have a baby together.”

“Yeah. You talked about being in the future and looking back on this day...but I wanted this portrait to show our future.”

“And that’s the future you see for us? We have a kid?”

Kurt nodded automatically, still transfixed by the drawing, before realizing that Blaine hadn’t said anything for a moment.

“That’s okay, isn’t it?” he asked, turning to look at him. “That I asked her to...” He trailed off at the look on Blaine’s face.  
  
“It’s perfect,” Blaine whispered, blinking away tears. “I’m so glad you think about our future and we’re still together, and raising a family.”

“Blaine, honey, we will always be together. I meant what I said last week. You moving out doesn’t mean we’re not still together. We always will be. And one day, yes, I’d like to raise kids with you.”

“Love you,” he whispered, and lifted up for a barely-there kiss, quick on a NYC sidewalk with the Christmas crowd still rushing by.  
  
“Love you too,” Kurt whispered back, before feeling a tug on his coat sleeve.

“Twenty dollars please.”


	7. Human

“Hello, beautiful. Good morning.” He leaned in to drop a soft kiss on the end of his nose. “I love your nose,” he whispered. “Maybe more than your Daddy K’s, but don’t tell him, okay? It’ll be our secret.”

Tiny fists waved in the air, hitting Blaine in his own nose. And his eye. He straightened, rubbing at it.

“Hey, where’s the love, Gillyweed?” he asked in mock affront, getting only a happy gurgle in return. Tiny feet kicked in the air for sheer joy of being able to do it, before coming down with a hard whump on the mattress.

“What say we get you changed, hmm? Because I can smell you from here and I know you’ve got junk in your trunk.” He leaned over the crib again and held his hands over his small body. Lately, Gil had been reaching up when he knew he was about to be lifted, and Blaine thought it was just the cutest thing—on the list of about a thousand cute things—that his son did. So he paused, and was rewarded with his baby’s hands grabbing his shirt sleeve and making a credible effort to pull himself up. Blaine laughed, scooping Gil up under the arms and lifting him out of the crib.

“Good morning, sunshine!” he singsonged as a little palm patted his face. This exploration of the face was another new habit of his. Blaine closed his eyes and let Gil pat his cheeks, his nose, his chin and mouth, eventually trying to pry his little fingernails into Blaine’s eyelids but he kept them resolutely closed.

“Gugh,” he heard as the hands moved to his neck and shoulders, and risked opening his eyes a crack. Gil was fascinated with the collar of his sleep shirt, so Blaine decided it was safe to open his eyes the rest of the way and carried him over to the changing table. While Gil tugged more at his shirt, he pulled out a size four diaper, made sure the wipes box was open and tugged a couple out.

“Ready, Gillyweed?” He adjusted his grip and swung his ten month old gently as he counted, “One, two, three, and ka-boom-dee-yay!” as he ‘dropped’ him on the changing mat. Gil chortled, delighted with the game, and attempted to stuff his footsie-covered right foot in his mouth. Blaine grabbed a stuffed owl from its perch on the table and pulled the string to start music playing. Captivated, Gil dropped his foot and grabbed for it. Blaine took his chance to quickly remove the boy’s pajama pants and slipped a clean diaper under the one Gil was wearing. He focused on breathing through his mouth as he slipped the dirty diaper free, used it to wipe the majority of the mess from Gil’s bottom, and grabbed a wipe to take care of the rest.

“I’m a little stink-pot, yes that’s me,” he sang as he worked. “I pooped my diaper, now I’m stink-ee.”

Clean diaper on, small belly raspberry’d, pants pulled back up, and sanitizer applied to his hands, he scooped Gil up again and sat in the glider to give him his morning bottle. All play forgotten in favor of food, Gil grabbed the bottle and shoved it toward his mouth, missing on the first try and splattering his face with formula, finding his target on the second try.  
Blaine chuckled at the sight, wiping Gil’s face with a bib that he’d had the forethought to put next to the bottle when he came in the room, but forgot to actually put around his son’s neck. Oh well. He began to sing softly in accompaniment to the smacking noises coming from his son.

_I used to dream I’d map the globe_  
One footstep at a time  
Cross deserts bleached by sunlight  
Scale mountains meant to climb 

It wasn’t a traditional lullaby, but he’d long since grown tired of the same old cradle songs everyone knew, and was constantly on the search for new ones. He’d even written a few himself. Kurt told him he should write a few more and release a CD of children’s songs.

Gil coughed, spitting out the nipple and crying out his dismay at the way his breakfast had betrayed him. Blaine quickly sat him up and rubbed his back, shushing him calm as Gil coughed again and whimpered.

“Went down the wrong pipe, Gillyweed?” Blaine asked. “It’s okay, buddy, it’s okay. Just breathe, give it a minute.” He wiped his mouth again, then where the formula had dribbled down his chin and into the fatty folds of his neck, then stood Gil up to face him. “Better now?”

“Ba-guh,” Gil replied, his large brown eyes assessing his father, then traveling over to his bottle on the table next to the glider. He lunged for it suddenly, making Blaine laugh.

“Okay, okay, I get it, you’re ready for more.” He sat Gil back down in his lap and brought the bottle over, getting him to lie back in the crook of his arm again once the bottle was back in his mouth. Blaine smoothed back the straight blonde bangs falling into his baby’s eyes, and began singing again.

_Once the road seemed awfully clear_  
Headed anywhere but here  
Didn’t have to go so far  
My world is where you are 

At moments like these, lulled himself by the song and the quiet peace of the nursery in early morning, his baby in his arms contentedly eating, he was hard put to remember how the idea of being a dad had terrified him. He’d wanted it, so much. Wanted to raise a child with Kurt, wanted to hear ‘Daddy’ being aimed at him. Wanted to be needed in the all-encompassing, desperate way that a baby needs a parent.

But taking on the responsibility of caring for a brand new human life, molding a fully-fledged and well rounded person to join the human race, to commit to a job that huge and important for the rest of his life…he’d had more than one panic attack in the months leading up to Gil’s birth.

But then their baby arrived, and the overwhelming job of parenting was broken down into much smaller, more immediate tasks. Baby has dirty diaper? Change it. Baby is hungry? Feed him. Baby is tired, rock him to sleep with a lullaby and put him in his crib. Blaine knew that all the answers to parenting would not always be so obvious. But for now, he was grateful they were. And he hadn’t once regretted his decision to quit his full time job and stay home with Gil, choosing to do freelance work part-time from home. He didn’t want to miss one precious moment of Gil’s first years.

Gil had nearly emptied his bottle, his eyes starting to wander the room now that his belly was full. Blaine tilted it a bit to make getting the last few swallows out easier, and finished the song.

_I used to be a traveler once_  
A thousand routes to choose  
A wanderer is someone  
With nothing left to lose.  
Now my journeys start and end  
When we are face to face  
I think home is a person  
And not so much a place

Bottle drained dry, he wiped Gil’s mouth again and lifted him up to kiss his nose again.

“Should’ve named you home,” he whispered. “Or heart. Cause that’s what you are, sweetie. You and your daddy are my home, and my heart. Don’t ever forget that, okay?”

He leaned back just far enough to look at Gil, to see his son returning his serious look with one of his own. Till he burped, sending the scent of half-digested Enfamil wafting into Blaine’s face. He waved the smell away, making Gil grin and show off his two bottom teeth.

“Nice to know you love me too, babe.” Gil gurgled. “Ready to get dressed for the day?”

 

 

**A/N: the song Blaine sings is “Where You Are,” lyrics by Jodi Picoult and music by Ellen Wilber. It can be heard here:** <http://assetlibrary.supadu.com/images/ckfinder/26/files/Audio/SingYouHome/09_Where_You_Are.mp3>


	8. Falter

The phone on the other end rang several times as Kurt waited, elbows on knees, slumped over, too aware of the slammed-closed door in the hallway. He wiped under his eyes, sniffled back the frustration.

“Hummel Tires and Lube.” The familiar drone of power tools and the metallic bang of automotive parts being fitted together nearly drowned out his dad’s voice, making Kurt more homesick than he’d been for a long time. He’d grown up in that tire shop. “Hello?”

“Dad, hi.” He swallowed down the anger and hurt and failure.

“Kurt. Hey buddy, what’s up?”

“Do you have a minute?”

“For you? Always. Just...gimme a sec here.” He heard his dad, voice muffled now, speaking to someone. “Take over here, will ya? Mrs. Latham needs this back by three.” A moment later, the shop sounds muted slightly. “All set, pal. Want to tell me about it?”

“It’s, umm…it’s been a bad parenting day. And I think I screwed up, Dad. No, I know I screwed up.” He paused at the chuckle that came down the line. “Wait, are you laughing at me?”

“Kurt….if you’re not screwing up once in a while, you’re not being a parent.”

“Yeah, but--”

“Answer me a question. Right this moment, is Gil safe and healthy? And do you know where he is and what he’s doing?”

“Safe and healthy, just not very happy. As for where, that would be in his bedroom sulking after we had a fight about him making his bed.” Laughter from his dad again.

“Sounds to me like you’ve got a typical twelve year old boy in the house. One of the most infuriating creatures God ever put on this planet. I know, I raised one.” He heard a familiar squeak and knew his dad had sat down in his old office chair. Kurt tried to buy him a new one two Christmases ago, but Burt Hummel stubbornly held on to his old creaky seat.

“I wasn’t like Gil. Please tell me I wasn’t like Gil.”

“Nope, you weren’t. You were your own special brand of exasperating. And when I say special brand, I mean that you must have bought a designer label called Piss-Your-Dad-Off that you bid on in one of those online auctions.”

Kurt couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. “Any clothing line with that name would sell like wildfire to teenagers.”

“Yeah well…if you create it, I demand royalties for the name.”

“Deal.” Kurt sat back against the couch, crossing his legs and letting his body relax into the cushions. He didn’t know how his dad always managed it, but talking to him was better than a Valium for relieving stress.

“So, my point is, you and I survived your puberty and teenage years. So you and Blaine can survive Gil’s. If your son is safe and healthy, you’re already getting fifty percent of the job right.”

“Yeah? What’s the other fifty percent?”

“Loving him. Unconditionally. And I’ve seen you two with Gil often enough to know that you’ve both got that down pat. So see? That’s one hundred percent and you’re golden.”

If only it were that easy, he’d never hear news reports of children being abused by their parents. He himself wouldn’t lie awake at night, replaying things he’d said to his son that day and wishing he’d said something different. He and Blaine wouldn’t have arguments over what was best for Gil. He sighed, loud enough for his dad to hear it.

“You’re oversimplifying, Dad. You didn’t leave any percentage for screw-ups, and I screwed up today.”

Too restless now to stay still, he got up and went over to the window, looking down on Barrow Street. Pedestrians out for their Saturday shopping hurried along with bags, tourists stopped to look in windows. Brunchers lounged at tiny café tables on the sidewalk, leaving even less space for those walking by.

“Do you want to tell me?”

“We were having that stupid fight over him making his bed—I mean, really, is it THAT big a deal? It takes about two seconds if he’d just do it. And I lost my temper. I told him to shut the hell up. I called him a brat. I just--” His voice broke. “Dad, I didn’t think I’d ever be that parent.” The shame of it made his whole body tight again.

“Did you do anything else?”

“Like what?”

“Did you hit him?”

“No!” He was aghast at the very thought. “Oh my God, Dad, do you really think I’d do that?”

“No, I don’t. Not today, and not ever. So you called him a name, which was wrong, but it’s not the worst thing you could have done to your kid.”

“But I know how much names can hurt. It’s verbal abuse, Dad, and he’ll get enough of it at school and from the rest of the world.”

“So you remember how you feel in this moment, and use it as a reminder to not do it again. Go in and apologize to him, admit you were wrong.”

“Should I? I mean, wouldn’t that be like backing down?”

“You’re not apologizing for expecting him to make his bed, only for the name calling. Apologizing doesn’t make you weak, it shows him that everyone falters. And when they do, they fess up to it and say they’re sorry.”

“Right. Okay.”

“And then you let go of it, Kurt. Admit you were wrong, say you’re sorry, and then let it be over. Because if you keep playing this incident over and over in your head, keep beating yourself up for it, the guilt will eat you alive. Save the guilt for the next time you get something wrong, and the next time. Cause you’re gonna mess up a bunch more times before he’s grown. May as well accept it.”

“Something to look forward to?” Kurt asked.

“Yep.” The line was silent for a moment, while Kurt watched the distant battle of wills between the delivery truck driver and the driver trying to get past him in the narrow road. “So what are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to man up and go apologize to my son. And hopefully convince him to make his bed, without shouting this time.”

“Sounds good. Call me later tonight, hmm? Tell me how great the rest of your Saturday was.”

“Hopefully.”

“Hey, how’s his injury? Didn’t he have a pulled muscle in his groin a few days ago?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s much better. He says it’s only a little stiff now. And oh my God, Dad, I’ve got to tell you what happened at breakfast the first morning after he pulled it. You’re gonna love this.”

“I’m all ears.”

“So he sits down to eat his cereal and I asked how he felt, if he was in pain. He says no pain, it’s just a little stiff and sore. So I said that some gentle stretches might help.”

“Okay, makes sense.”

“I turned around from the sink and he’s giving me this horrified look. Blaine walked in, saw his face, asked him what’s wrong. He points to me and says, ‘Dad wants me to do _genital_ stretches! Is that a real thing?’”

The sound exploded through the phone, raucous joy carrying from Lima, Ohio and smoothing the edges of Kurt’s jagged emotions again.

“Okay….okay,” his dad sounded like he was trying to catch his breath. “That’s the kind of memory you want to hang on to, Kurt. Not the fights over petty stuff or the times you weren’t the perfect parent. Hang on to stuff like that. Write it down. Make a list of stuff that he says….and one day you can embarrass the hell out of him when his has his first serious girlfriend or boyfriend.”

“I’ll be sure to start a new file for it, as soon as I talk to him. Thanks Dad, you’ve been a huge help.”

“It’s what I’m here for, kid. You call me later, okay? Love you.”

“Love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this collection comes from the song "Starting Here, Starting Now." The full lyric is: "So be still, take my hand, for the greatest journey heaven can allow." Although the song wasn't talking about parenting, I think it's applicable.


End file.
